James and the Giant Con
by GotchaYouLilDirtbag
Summary: Sawyer's taken the guns. He's not giving them back without a fight, but the rumour is that the castaways have had enough and are willing to do whatever it takes to get them back; even the unthinkable. Only Kate can prevent it. If she can just convince Sawyer that he's worth saving.


OK, so this is another WIP I've been working on. I had an idea that I was playing with about what might happen to Sawyer after he took the guns. I had originally started this with a first chapter called: The Monster Under the Bed, but unfortunately the computer ate that one a long time ago and its gone and I just don't have the heart to tackle writing it again. So in summary, this series begins after Sawyer has taken the guns. Kate goes to try to get him to give them back whilst he's having a dip in a jungle pool. They argue. Kate calls Sawyer out on his self-hatred that is making him do these things and tells him that she's no longer going to chase him and keep offering him help that he keeps spurning. He has to come to her. She leaves. OK, so that's it. Now on to the next chapter.

If anyone wants to read more of this series please review and tell me and I will keep writing it. Its a bit depressing to be review-less.

Chapter 1

Kate left Sawyer at the pool, moving quickly through the thick jungle that surrounded the little oasis and back onto the trail that led, in a meandering sort of way, back to the beach. She had enjoyed the rambling quality of the old pathway - its groves of flowers and fruiting trees - but now its oblique loops and redundant switchbacks were a nuisance: they hindered her rapid egress, away from the pool, away from Sawyer, and away from the dangerous furnace of rage and pain boiling in those haunted eyes.

She had not lied when she said she wasn't going to chase him, or try to force him to tear apart decades old defences that had kept him alive for all this time. That way lay Mutually Assured Destruction. Plus it was arrogant as hell on her part to presume she had any business doing either. And Sawyer was so incredibly sensitive to even the slightest whiff of condescension, if he even thought she was taking liberties he would react like he had to Jack, and she would lose any chance to find that man she had suspected was there before the raft had sailed, and that had begun to surface since he returned.

Jack: a problem in so many ways. And not just for Sawyer.

She could not deny the attraction she felt for the doctor, but as with most things in her life, it was riddled with unhappy complications. For a start he was a good man: a man of high principle and fierce conviction; a missionary man. There were no uncertainties in his world, only crooked lines yet to be straightened on their passage through his moral press. It wasn't hard to imagine that the way he conducted himself back in the 'real world' was not in the least bit different to how he led his life here. But then, such a life had not prepared him for living in close proximity with someone with her questionable past, or equipped him to deal with a wild card like Sawyer. Here were crooked lines that refused to stay flattened down no matter how hard he struggled with them.

"Kate?" The voice startled her and she nearly fell into one of the leafy bushes on the side of the track. A strong hand grabbed her arm, saving her from an afternoon spent picking fine stinging barbs out of her skin and clothes. "What are you doing out here?"

"John. Oh!" She said, recovering her footing. Locke released her and stood back. "I'm just walking; thinking."

"About Sawyer?" He asked. It wasn't a question. "Me too."

"Oh."

"Why do you think he did it? Took the guns I mean."

"'Why'? Don't you want to know how?"

"Why leads to how." He answered cryptically.

"OK." She tried to keep her voice as calm as his, though she was surprised that anyone was thinking beyond how: how he took the guns, how to bargain for them, or how to take them back by force. Certainly Jack and the new inner circle, which she was now pointedly kept out of, had been in a huddle all last night and all this morning working on 'how'. "And you're asking me because-"

"You know him-"

"Ha. No one knows Sawyer." She said, surprised at how much saying those words out loud actually hurt. And at how bitter she sounded. How angry.

"All right, then you know him best of all of us here." He replied, and paused to consider her. "Any ideas?"

"No." She replied. John might be the one person on the island with whom she could air her limited facts and her speculations, but to do so would be a betrayal. She could not, she would not, break Sawyer's hard won trust. Not without an earth shatteringly good reason.

"Oh." He said. If he was disappointed, he did not show it, but Kate did suspect that he did not believe her. The tracker took another one of his considered pauses. "I think he had help. Actually, I know that he did."

"And you think that I- !"

"No. No. There's no doubt you were on the beach all afternoon. But somebody did help him, and we have to know about that too. If he had anything to do with Sun –

"It's very bad for the group, Kate. There are difficult times coming, and if we have people working secretly against us, any of us, then we have to uncover them, and quickly." He paused again. This time it was as if he was weighing something in his mind, and it occurred to her that he might be here talking to her on behalf of the 'inner circle'. She frowned. Had John, had Jack, so finally planted her flag in the 'enemy's' camp that they felt the need to treat her like an adversary that must be forced or tricked into turn over whatever information they wanted? The thought was a crushing one; an infuriating one. Across from her John sighed. "There have been 'suggestions' that this whole state of affairs has become untenable; that the situation with the Others has developed to a point that the group can no longer afford division."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know." Locke replied. "Sawyer is a divisive force in the group, Kate. Now, if times were different then maybe it would not have reached this point, but they aren't and they have, and he's not only disruptive, he's dangerous; destructive. And he's unpredictable. It's a bad combination."

"What- What? Are you saying that Sayid, that Jack, want to torture him again because I-" The words rushed out of her mouth in a torrent of sudden horror.

"No. I'm saying that the belief is that things have gone beyond that."

"No! I don't - That's crazy – Who's saying that? Who believes that?" She demanded. This was insane! What the hell was happening on this island? What had happened to the last thousand years of civilisation that it could break down so completely, so quickly? "They can't take things that far John. They won't be able to find the guns without him. I might not know him very well, but I know that if he had someone take the guns for him initially, he'll have moved them since then."

"We thought of that. Based on the time he had available to him and the need for more than one trip to fetch all the weapons, then a return trip to the camp, we know the size of the area we have to search. It would take some time, but it's doable. Really, we don't need Sawyer to tell us where he's hidden the weapons."

"Then why aren't you all out searching instead of talking about murder?" She demanded.

"Because as well as being divisive he's also intelligent. If he sees, or suspects, we have started looking for the guns, he'll move them again. The belief is that it would be simpler in the long run if he were out of the picture."

"No. John. Do – do you believe that?"

"I believe," he said with slow consideration, "that so far this is all talk. But feelings are running high Kate. People are scared, and they won't tolerate feeling threatened at home. Especially now.

"I am here talking to you because there has been enough killing. If all this talk becomes action then what hope is there for any of us." He sighed. "This is exactly the sort of thing I was trying to avoid, before Sawyer intervened. He has to give the guns back. Maybe not to me or to Jack, but he has to give them back."

"He won't." She spoke in a whisper, frantically searching for a way out and not seeing one. This was fast approaching the 'earth shattering' spill the beans, point. Oh god. She had to go and find him – now! "How much time do I have?"

"I don't know." Locke replied. She ran.

LOSTLOSTLOST

Sawyer was in the water again when she returned to the pool. He was floating on his back, spitting water into the air like some demented whale. The gun was no where in sight. This time, she suspected, he would have made a better job of securing it, and she didn't have time to search.

"Sawyer?" She called, racing to the lip of the pool. He ignored her and sent another jet of water into the air. "Sawyer!" Maybe this time there was a quality to her voice, or maybe he realised that she wasn't going to go away, because suddenly called out:

"Thought you were gonna leave me be."

"Sawyer, come in here."

"No. You get them jeans off and come out here."

"No. Stop playing games! Come on!"

"Why? So we can have another chat? Don't think so Freckles. The last one weren't that much fun." He rotated himself full circle in the water, making a show of disinterest. When he was facing front again, he right himself to tread water. "You come out here. There are other things we can do besides talkin'."

"I'm not chasing you around the pool Sawyer. And if you don't come in here right now, then I'm not the only one who's going to get a show!" That worked. She watched his eyes narrow.

"What?"

"Just get in here Sawyer!" Why did he have to make everything so difficult?

Kate watched him stroke in to shore; watched the easy, powerful grace with which he moved through the water. She had noticed that the first time they had gone swimming here, and again earlier today. She had also noticed – other – interesting things both of those times, but now all she was concerned with was getting him into shore and away from here: preferably in one piece and still breathing.

Sawyer hauled himself on the bank, still completely unfazed by his own nakedness, and grabbed his jeans. He looked up at her as he dressed.

"Who's comin'?" He asked. She could practically see the mental cogs spinning. "They far behind you?"

"No. Maybe. I just ran into John on the trail."

"Locke?" He paused mid zip. "By himself? Now wait a damn minute, you got me outa my bath because Grizzly Adams is out for his morning constitutional?"

"Dammnit Sawyer, he told me they are planning to kill you!" She interrupted. "John told me that some of the others in camp are talking about getting rid of you and finding the guns themselves."

"He 'told' you that? Just strolled on by and said - hey Kate, guess what-"

"He was serious and I believe him." She watched him consider the new development. "He doesn't want to see any more killing."

"How magnanimous of him." Sawyer finished zipping up and pulled on his shirt. He shook his head. "No. He's playin' you. I made a fool out of him and now he's comin' back at me through the one -" He stopped himself and turned all his attention to buttoning the shirt. She swallowed. At any other time she might have called him on that slip up, but now –

"I believe him Sawyer."

"'Course you do Freckles. That would be the idea. He thinks that he can scare me into makin' a move and then he can just follow on behind." He turned away, reached into a thicket of ferns and pulled out that ridiculously huge gun. "Thinks he can take me down. Get himself his own armoury an' make himself General."

"That's ludicrous! Are you listening to yourself? John does not think like that."

"Scratch the surface and everybody thinks like that, Freckles." He frowned at her, clearly bemused by her ignorance.

"I don't!"

"Oh, don't go getting your panties all in a bunch! I ain't making no moral judgement, just an observation."

"That's ridiculous, and it's the saddest thing I've ever heard. And I don't believe you really think like that. I don't think John does either." She watched him check the weapon. "You have to give the guns back Sawyer."

"Ain't gonna happen." He said darkly. The smirk had vanished and the Sheriff was back, cantankerous and implacably defiant.

"So what are you going to do about what John said?" She demanded.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? And what if, you know hell freezes over and you're wrong and he is telling the truth and they have decided to kill you?" Of all the arrogant, pigheaded-

"He ain't. If he were he'd have come up with something a damn sight more original than that sad ass story!" He slung the gun over his shoulder and looked down at her. "Now, if you don't mind I got to go talk to a man about a dog. And you need to be getting yourself back to the beach or Captain Jack and the rest of the archangels are gonna get ideas 'bout your loyalties."

"Too late for that." She said, staring at him. Loyalties? Loyalty to what? There were no 'sides'? This wasn't 'Survivor'. They weren't contestants in some idiotic game show! What was he – Damn him. She wanted to scream at him, but now no words would come for the sudden swell of hot emotion that choked her throat. The bastard. The utter bastard. He had, in one indifferent move, isolated her from everyone on the island. Despite John's protestations, she knew that the other survivors now viewed her with suspicion for her very obvious connection to Sawyer, and now here he was showing her that she was not welcome, that she was not trusted, here either.

Why was he doing this to her?

She was not wrong about him. She wasn't. She couldn't be. She wouldn't let herself be wrong. It wasn't all an act. He had showed her the letter, he had told her things, let her see things, that could not have been just part of a performance for his latest play. No: she was a good judge of character. She was. And he could not have done all this, kept up such a front, just to use her to get to this unnecessary place that he could never have predicted would come about. He couldn't have: it was ridiculous, it was unthinkable.

He wasn't so paranoid and downright stupid to believe that the thawing in relations between himself and everyone else was some sort of giant conspiracy. He couldn't be. Sawyer was no fool. He knew who was genuine and who was not: in that regard he was uncannily sensitive. Plus, she had seen how he reacted when he had emerged at last from the Hatch, unguarded and almost silly with the relief from illness, and been greeted with smiles and overtures of friendship. She had seen the vulnerable, childlike surprise that had fleetingly emerged, and that could not have been faked. If anything there had been fear intermingled with the astonishment, not this scorn, not this angry hatred.

That couldn't be it, could it? Was he frightened? Surely not. And surely not to that degree. How could he feel so threatened by what he had seen in their eyes that he would destroy himself, her and everyone else (probably in that order of preference) just to make it stop? It beggared belief. But then, Sawyer never had been one to stay within the normal bounds of human reaction. She suspected that on some level, he had never been shown just what these were – at least not in any way that would make him consider minding them.

If he really needed them to hate him that much, that he was so petrified of being treated with anything less than obvious hatred, that death was preferable, then she was terrified – of him, for him, for everyone. The rest of the castaways were right: this could not go on.

The question was: how was it going to end?

"Oh, still on the outs with the doc then?" Sawyer was looking at her with strange eyes. "What, he thinks you're in league with the devil? Or maybe he-" He paused, one side of his mouth twisting into a dark humourless smile. "Man's stupid in all sorts of ways ain't he?

"Well, you best go try to mend some bridges then." He went on. "I'm sure you know just how to do that, doncha?" He walked passed her and disappeared into the jungle. She did not follow.

LOSTLOSTLOST

Kate followed Sawyer's fresh trail sign through the jungle back to the snaking pathway that lead back to the beach. She noted that he had turned inland, away from the camp and thought that she knew where he had gone. For all his talk, the threat to his latest acquisition would be worrying his mind like a splinter and he would not be able to resist checking everything was all right. She paused and stared at the prints. Damn him anyway. Damn his destructive self-hatred. Damn him for what he had done to her. And she would be damned if he was going to keep those guns…

She turned inland herself and followed his trail.

Despite his recent injury, Sawyer's stride was his usual confident swagger and he was covering a good measure of ground in a short amount of time. It seemed he had taken her more seriously than he had let on. The realisation only added to her anger.

Within a few minutes, though, Sawyer's prints were joined by another! Kate stopped and squatted down to examine the ground. The new prints were smaller than the southerner's, which wasn't all that illuminating as most of the castaways fitted into that category, but the tread was less defined. So it was someone who did a lot more walking than Sawyer – also not that helpful, and for the same reason. But where they touched on Sawyer's they were always on top. So, whoever left them was following the con artist, just like she was. Kate touched her fingers gently into one of them and frowned. Was it Ana Lucia? Sayid? Even Jack? It was impossible to tell. Rising from her crouch, she sped up her chase.

Kate followed the trail for another half and hour, pausing every few minutes to check on the detail of the sign. Sawyer was starting to tire, his gait was getting shorter and the swagger had become a straightforward trudge. His pursuer, on the other hand, was not tiring in the least. She had also started to come across places where the southerner had stopped to rest and prop his gun on the ground. The pursuer also paused in these places but, unlike his/her quarry who seemed to wander around these small spaces as he rested, the hunter merely stopped. Kate swore under her breath. Whoever they were they were pacing themselves to match Sawyer and there was only one reason why anyone would do that. John had been telling the truth: someone had taken matters into their own hands and was tracking Sawyer, and his latest stash, down with the canny deliberation of a hunting wolf. She bit her lower lip.

Damn him! Damn him for making her care about him like this – she sped up again.

Kate followed the trail through the jungle as it pushed through all the most unpleasant parts of it – swamp patches seething with insects, groves of thorny trees, mossy tangles of ankle snapping tree roots, across rocky streams, up steep inclines and finally back towards the beach. What the hell was Sawyer doing? Making it hard for a pursuer? Did he know he was being followed or did he just suspect it? Whatever he was doing, he had to know that it would be taking more out of him than any healthy would-be follower. Was he just trying to piss them off? Maybe trying to encourage them to give up?

"These guns aren't yours James. They belong to everyone." John's voice suddenly floated through the tangle of trees to her left, the side nearest to the ocean. She stopped dead on the trail. John?

"So that's why you and Jack had 'em locked up tight in the Hatch," Sawyer retorted, "and that's why you put a combination lock on the door: because they 'belong' to everyone."

Kate left the pathway and pushed into the jungle towards the men. She trod carefully, silently, stepping over fallen trees and mossy knots of slippery roots, brushing aside damp leaves and vines. The hiss and salt breeze of the ocean grew stronger with every step.

And then she saw them.

The two men were facing off less than five feet away, in a small sunny clearing on the far side a thick stand of ferns and slender vine wrapped trees. Their backdrop, that blocked the ocean from view, was a huge pile of pocked volcanic boulders, speckled with moss, lichen and fallen leaves. Locke, looking like he had been pulled through a bush backwards (which, after Sawyer's creativity with his hike, was not too far from the truth), had his back to the rocks. Sawyer was blocking the way back into the jungle. He was standing with his arms by his sides looking relaxed and confident, as he usually did, but he was also standing on a slight angle to the older man. It was a position that put his stronger side forward while protecting his healing shoulder. Across the clearing, Locke's body language was as unassuming as always, as if he had not registered Sawyer's hostility. It was as if he had expected -

She stopped dead in her tracks as the realisation sank in. John had used her to get to Sawyer. Within a millisecond Kate was more furious than she had been in a long long time. The bastard. That she had been used so thoroughly twice in less than 24 hours… How could John do that to her?

"Certain precautions had to be taken." John went on. "You said it yourself: if the guns ever got out we couldn't get them back in. And frightened people and firearms do not go together.

"Now, I'm taking these," he swept a hand back, evidently indicating the hidden stash, "back to the camp-"

"Like hell you are!"

"- and you aren't going to stop me."

"You channelling Yoda now?" Sawyer frowned as he spoke. "You go all 'use the force Luke' and I just hand 'em over. Is that it?" He straightened up his slouch. "I don't think so."

John sighed. "Don't make things any worse for yourself James. I'm giving you this one chance-"

"Oh," Sawyer almost laughed. "Is that what you're doin'? You used Kate-"

"That bothers you? As I recall, that's not something you seem to have had trouble doing."

"It don't bother me none. Just gonna say: nice touch. Can appreciate a good con when I see one." He smirked at the older man. "You ain't as saintly as you appear are you Locke. Wonder what the rest of Gilligan's Island would think if they knew that."

"Don't change the topic James. As I said this is your one and only chance-"

"Hoh! Or what? That little story you spun Kate 'bout the posse – that's true is it?" He laughed. "No way would the doc allow that. Murder just ain't in him."

"That's true. But he isn't the only one in the camp." John replied, steely now. "You've pissed off a lot of people with this stunt James, people who aren't as particular as Jack."

Sawyer's eyes narrowed, matching the tracker's sudden overt hostility. "An' that would be you, would it Popeye? You come to put the bad dog down?" He stepped forward: so close that Locke could not miss him if he chose to fire. "You think you got the stones for that? You got the balls to pull that trigger, John? Because that's the only way you're leavin' here with my property."

End chapter.

Please review if you want more.


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